


No Strings on Me

by privatesnarker



Series: Neon Verona [1]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Alien Character(s), Aliens, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Androids, Cyborgs, Gen, Pre-Canon, Telepathy, Vendettas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:51:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/privatesnarker/pseuds/privatesnarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Relax, it’s a masked ball, no-one will know. Romeo can take off his headphones and let someone else do his makeup, it’ll make him unrecognizable.” They stood in the entrance hall, an unspoken sense of conspiracy keeping them from crossing the threshold onto the street.</i>
</p><p>  <i>“And Benvolio? There’s not many androids around, and none that look like him.”</i></p><p>  <i>“He can dress up as a human then, “ Mercutio said airily, as if he wasn’t suggesting something highly illegal, “I do it all the time, it’s amazing how stupid people are about it. Put him in long sleeves, a headband maybe and a mask, and Romeo will finally have a real cousin instead of a mechanical cricket.” Seeing their doubtful faces, he added: “Or you can be boring cowards and leave me to suffer alone, the choice is yours.”</i></p><p>Benvolio is having a rather eventful evening -- Three scenes set in flashy cyberpunk Verona.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Strings on Me

„Romeo? Is that you?“

„Who else would I be?“ A justified retort, despite the surrounding darkness – for one, this was Romeo’s room, and for another, the softly pulsating light could only come from the device whirring quietly under his ribs. Benvolio tapped against the wall next to him to make it light up, illumination confirming what Romeo’s sullen tone had already promised – he was splayed out listlessly on his bed like some stranded sea creature, blinking into the light with brows and mouth downturned.

“Why were you sitting in the dark?” If not for his quiet sigh Benvolio would have walked right past his open door.

“Timer went off.” The walls reacted to lack of movement by dimming themselves down. “Forgot to get up.”

Benvolio heaved a soundless sigh and ambled over to sit next to his cousin. The bed creaked ominously as a quarter ton of metal and plastic was added to its burden. “Okay, out with it. Which beauty broke your heart this time?”

Romeo looked down at his chest with a hint of amusement, before putting on a much less convincing smile. “My heart remains perfectly functional. You could say it’s lack of beauty that ails me.” In response to Benvolio’s mystified expression, he took his music player out of the pocket of his jacket. “Lost my headphones.”

Benvolio was about to call him out on that excuse – obviously Romeo would not descend into this kind of brooding over the temporal absence of his beloved yellow headphones – when a tap on the window made them both look up.

“Hey! Let me in!” Mercutio stood on the windowsill as if it was the middle of the plaza, completely disregarding the fact that it was the tenth floor. Benvolio got up to open the window for their friend to stroll inside.

“Can’t you use the door for a change?”

Mercutio sneered at the mere suggestion. “You would have every bird hop by foot, wouldn’t you, since you can’t fly yourself.” He gave an exaggerated leer. “Do you want us to become monks as well, for your sake?” Benvolio heard Romeo snicker and sit up behind him, but he only raised both eyebrows at the jibe.

“Tall words from someone who can’t even undress his conquests himself.” Mercutio had glided down from the window to the floor in apparent contradiction to the laws of gravity, and currently one of his feet looked to be residing inside a stack of video files piled on the floor of Romeo’s perennially chaotic room. Romeo ignored this. Unlike Benvolio, whose sensors could detect the fluttering little ball of feathers and scales that was Mercutio’s natural shape, Romeo only saw, heard and felt the gangly ginger projection with its beaky nose and unsettling all-brown eyes; but he had learned that Mercutio existed from somewhere inside his ribcage, and acted accordingly.

Mercutio sniffed. “They’re usually more than glad to assist.” His expression turned mischievous. “Conversely, I need neither help nor time.” And in the blink of an eye his clothes had vanished, leaving him naked and grinning.

Romeo hid his face behind his hands: “Nooo, put them back on!” 

Benvolio managed to stop laughing long enough to add: “My virgin eyeeees!” 

Satisfied with their reaction, Mercutio relented, and once again the only freckles in sight were those on his face. Today they were golden, glinting with every turn of his head.

“And what are you gentlemen sitting inside for on a fine evening as this?”

Romeo raised his headphoneless music player. “I’m cut off from my source of humour.”

Mercutio cast an eye around the cluttered floor, before pointing on a heap of brightly colored clothing next to the bed. “This should help it flow again.”

“Oh!” Romeo jumped up at the sight of the yellow cable peeking out the pocket of a pair of silver holographic pants, and hurried over to dig them out.

“Actually, I have somewhere to be tonight.” Benvolio had just remembered where he had been going before Romeo’s fit of melancholy had distracted him. 

Mercutio rounded on him with the expression of a shark that’s spotted a particularly undignified and ridiculous seal. “What’s that, our artful artificial friend has lured in an unsuspecting lady with his magnetic charm at last?” 

Benvolio snorted. “I wish. No, I was sent a royal summons just now, apparently I’m wanted at the palace this evening.” And after that he had another appointment, but he would rather cut off his own tongue than tell Mercutio that.

“What the hell would my uncle want from you that can’t wait until tomorrow?” He narrowed his eyes. “And why are you dressed like you’re going to a funeral?”

Benvolio shrugged, and didn’t correct the misassumption. The summons had not been from Escalus, but Valentine; and the time of day had not been the strangest part of it. Benvolio had never met Mercutio’s brother, only had one memory of seeing him stand behind his uncle on one occasion, red-haired like his brother, black-clad like a servant, not doing anything in particular while looking faintly miserable, or maybe just aloof. He had no idea what the meeting would be about, but seeing as the summons explicitly bade him not to inform Mercutio (along with the cryptic demand not to wear bright colors), and the latter did not seem on very close terms to his family anyway, there was no use discussing it.

Romeo walked up to them, headphones at their accustomed place around his neck. “If you’re going to the palace, we can come and wait outside.” He had obviously just dipped a finger in white eyeshadow and smudged it across his eyelids; in concert with the remnants of blue lipstick in the general vicinity of his mouth, the resulting look squarely met his usual standards for “presentable”.

Mercutio, red eyeliner impeccably sharp, shot him a dramatically exasperated look. “Lead on then, o humourous one.” 

Romeo obediently went to open the door for him (door handles were Mercutio’s eternal adversaries), then turned around with an expression so ostentatiously casual it immediately raised suspicion.

“By the by… I really wish you would let me hear you sing one day.”

Mercutio breezed past him into the hallway. “Any song specifically? Because I heard one the other day about—“

“No, I mean the real you.” Romeo hurried after him. “Benvolio says you sound—“

“Benvolio should check his auditory system, because he’s hearing things that aren’t there.”

Benvolio rolled his eyes as he closed the door and trudged over to the elevator. As if the fact Mercutio wasn’t projecting could stop people – well, people like Benvolio – from seeing or hearing him. As if Mercutio didn’t know that. Likewise, Romeo wasn’t deterred by the waspish tone.

“Well, right now I’m seeing a you that’s not really there, so I don’t—“

“I swear I will find a way to hurt you if you don’t let it go.” The aggression barely covered his embarrassment, and Benvolio almost felt bad for him. Maybe he would only tease him a little about it later. Romeo huffed.

“Fine.” His mulish stare told Benvolio that he would be hearing this argument a lot over the next days. Well, it was better than Romeo sulking. The elevator doors closed behind them, and Mercutio managed an entire three seconds of silence before piping up again.

“There’s a ball at the Capulet mansion.”

“What, tonight?” Romeo accepted the change of topic without a hitch.

“No, the day after tomorrow. The old man is making us all go, and I will have to watch Paris kiss Capulet ass all night. You should go with me.”

Benvolio stepped out the elevator first. “Is now really a good time?” There had been a sharp increase in brawls over the last weeks; just this morning Escalus had had to dissolve a large mob of taser-armed fighters on the main square. Romeo must’ve been one of the few members of either clan under 25 not present.

“Now is the best time to make it fun.” Why Mercutio showed up to the fights at all was beyond Benvolio. Maybe he enjoyed the chaos. “Relax, it’s a masked ball, no-one will know. Romeo can take off his headphones and let someone else do his makeup, it’ll make him unrecognizable.” They stood in the entrance hall, an unspoken sense of conspiracy keeping them from crossing the threshold onto the street.

“And Benvolio? There’s not many androids around, and none that look like him.”

“He can dress up as a human then, “ Mercutio said airily, as if he wasn’t suggesting something highly illegal, “I do it all the time, it’s amazing how stupid people are about it. Put him in long sleeves, a headband maybe and a mask, and Romeo will finally have a _real cousin_ instead of a mechanical cricket.” Seeing their doubtful faces, he added: “Or you can be boring cowards and leave me to suffer alone, the choice is yours.”

“We’ll see,” Benvolio said noncommittally, and turned to leave the hall.

\---

The first impressions Benvolio received of Valentine was that of an annoyed voice and a strong accent.

“I said no bright colors.”

Benvolio looked down at himself. Mercutio had been correct, he was wearing his funeral clothes – the only pieces of his wardrobe that weren’t bright yellow, blue, or purple. It felt strange to be wearing them again only three days after the last funeral – each family had two Sundays per month to bury their dead with the chapel and graveyard to themselves, and last Sunday had been a Montague one. Unlike then, Benvolio had even foregone wearing makeup; the only brightly colored parts of his appearance now were the glowing magenta markings under his skin, visible only on his face and bare arms. He frowned back at the spindly figure glaring at him from the darkest part of the dim room, where it sat on a couch. He could have sworn Valentine had been stockier and shorter the last time he had seen him, and he knew his memory to be sharply accurate.

“I’m not permitted to cover those up.“ Maybe Valentine didn’t often meet enhanced humans. He couldn’t often meet lifelike androids, because to his knowledge Benvolio was the only one in Verona.

“In here you are.” Somehow Benvolio had expected any sibling of Mercutio’s to be more eloquent than this. When he gestured to a stool in front of the couch, the sleeve of Valentine’s shapeless black robes billowed out like a wing. “Sit.”

Benvolio did, pulling on the hood of his vest to cover the markings on his forehead; the glowing swirls on his arms would have to remain in view for now. He waited for Valentine to speak first. There was a silence as they appraised each other.

The only features of his host’s projection Benvolio could pick out clearly were the overlong auburn hair, sallow skin, and dark beady eyes – they might have been any color, but like Mercutio’s there was no white in them. It wasn’t the dim light that made it difficult to determine the rest. Valentine’s physiognomy kept running and blurring, like an out-of-focus video recording. It had taken Benvolio some time at first to tune in to Mercutio’s telepathic frequency, maybe his brother was projecting on a slightly different channel, and he wasn’t getting a clear signal. He focused instead on the fist-sized avian shape perched on the velvet settee, tilting its head at him. Finally, Valentine saw fit to dispense a few words.

“I hear young Romeo is well.”

“Hale and hearty.” Benvolio’s response would have been the same if his cousin were laying on his deathbed. As a matter of fact, it was the response he had given long before the heart implant had proven to be the full success it had turned out to be. Important heirs were always healthy, right until their death.

“You have outlived your usefulness as a stand-in then.” Benvolio blinked at the blunt statement, too surprised to answer respectfully.

“I’m not a stand-in, I’m her nephew.”

“You are referring to Benvolio Montague, killed alongside his parents 15 years ago during the last flare-up of the vendetta?” Apparently this interview was meant to be a personal interrogation.

“As you can see, I survived.”

“Yes. Which is why you have a citizen’s registration, not an ownership certificate. An automaton with a soul.” Ten minutes into this conversation, and Benvolio already had the strong suspicion that he did not like Valentine. At least Mercutio only insulted people’s intelligence and sexual proclivities, and he did so in an amusing fashion. The direct, unblinking stare (both of them) was getting under his skin as well.

“Now, the reason I called you in.” And then Valentine wasn’t forming words at all anymore, just a string of guttural croaking interspersed with whistling and something that sounded like a creaky iron gate being pushed open and shut repeatedly. It was not the sort of noise any human could produce, but Benvolio knew it at once: Whenever Mercutio decided mid-rant that the narrow confines of Veronese would not fit his lofty thoughts and switched languages despite the fact that nobody would understand him, this was the form his bitter raging took.

He shifted on his stool. “…Come again?”

“As I thought.” Valentine sat back, his eager inquisitiveness transforming into lazy satisfaction. It did not endear him to Benvolio any further. “You’re programmed to understand any _human_ language, but this one’s outside your parameters.” His projection’s nose swam for a moment, before taking on the definite appearance of a beak, an actual bird’s beak. Either he was doing this on purpose to show off and intimidate, or he was much worse at projecting than either Mercutio, Paris, or Escalus.

Benvolio decided to drop all pretense of courtesy. “How do you know about my programming?” His relation to Lady Montague was more or less common knowledge, but the specifics of his design and function were not to leave the walls of the Montague mansion.

“I have a copy here.” His face looked human again, and smug on top of that, but the hand he waved vaguely only had three clawed fingers, when there had been five normal ones just a moment ago.

“It’s encoded!” What he had actually wanted to say was _It’s mine!_ , but of course it wasn’t. Of course not.

“Very badly, actually.” Valentine looked thoughtful now. “Whoever wrote that brilliant piece of code could have tried much harder at encrypting it. But they didn’t.” He seemed oblivious of how much he had just upset Benvolio, who was sure that if he had been human, he would have been fighting angry tears by now. It was irrational to feel so protective, but this was _him_ Valentine was talking of so dismissively, or at least an integral part of him that was supposed to be hidden from stranger’s eyes. 

“And do you want to know another interesting fact?”

“What.” _Yes, tell me more about myself that you’re not supposed to know, that I didn’t know myself until just now._

“Your markings.” Valentine waved a now human-looking hand, albeit one covered in greenish scales. “The sequence making them glow is neatly divided from the rest, with no protective measures whatsoever. It’s like an off-switch asking to be pressed.” He leaned forwards again, and squinted at Benvolio’s arms. “There’s no mark _on_ your skin, without the light underneath your markings would vanish.” 

“That’s illegal, “ Benvolio said weakly, “without the marks I could pass for human.” He did not want to think about what this could mean – it meant nothing, he didn’t even know if Valentine was telling the truth.

“And isn’t that what every being in the galaxy should aspire to do.” The bitterness made him sound eerily like Mercutio. When Benvolio looked up, he was staring into the middle distance, hands twitching on his knees. His ears had vanished, and his hair was looking suspiciously like feathers. After a short silence he turned back to Benvolio.

“I can rewrite your language processing system.”

“No, thank you.” As if Benvolio would let some fishy stranger mess around with his programming. If nothing else, there’d be hell to pay if anyone noticed during the next backup appointment.

Valentine did not seem offended, but Benvolio didn’t like the look on his face very much either. It looked rather a lot like pity. “Others don’t ask, do they.”

Benvolio pressed his lips together. “I don’t follow.”

“I found older versions of your program backed up. Did you agree to have them overwritten?”

As a matter of fact, Benvolio had been rather pleased with the bug giving him a slight stammer a few months back. It had sounded so… —but of course any malfunction had to be fixed, even if it happened to be a charming one.

He sat up as straight as possible, shoulders back. “I am Lady Montague’s nephew. She cares for me, and maintenance is part of that.”

Valentine nodded. “Remarkable, how useful nephews will always be found when you need them in this town.”

His meaning was blindingly obvious, or at least Benvolio thought so until after he’d said: “I am _not_ like Tybalt.”

Valentine raised both eyebrows in a perfect imitation of Mercutio’s most innocent expression, and Benvolio realized he might just as well have been talking about Paris, or himself. He tried his best not to drop his gaze and admit his embarrassment. It hadn’t been Paris who had chased him all across the square just this morning, and it wasn’t Paris’ sunglasses he had stolen and was keeping in his vest pocket. Most importantly, it wasn’t Paris whose com number he had bribed out of a friend of an acquaintance of a friend, sending off a message that sounded a lot braver than he had felt. All this however was none of Valentine’s business.

“…No, you aren’t.” His expression sobered abruptly. “When called upon to kill, you will not fail.”

Seeing Benvolio’s bewildered face, he went on: “I had a look at your blueprints as well. You weigh as much as three men, your skeleton is made from titanium, your joints can all lock in place, and you can carry double your own weight easily, more if needed. All Tybalt has is a head crammed so full of electronics it’s a wonder there’s still some brain left inside his skull, and while official stance of course insists that he is, how did you say, _hale and hearty_ , anyone who has laid eyes on him and is not on Capulet’s payroll can tell me otherwise. If this feud really escalated, and each house sent its best weapon, Tybalt would not stand a chance.”

Benvolio swallowed. He felt cold, even though his sensors told him the room temperature hadn't changed. “Lady Montague would never—“ He broke off. She would. She was his aunt, and he was forever indebted to her, but even so she would never hesitate to use all weapons at her disposal if necessary. “ _I_ wouldn’t. I would never kill anybody. Not for her. Not for anyone.”

Valentine’s face split open ear to ear to reveal two rows of pointy teeth, and it took Benvolio one alarmed second to realize he was smiling. Thankfully he stopped after a moment. 

“An automaton with spirit. I like that. If you let me reprogram you, I promise you will understand a lot more of what Mercutio says. Even in Veronese. It’s your decision. And Lady Montague does not have to know.”

Benvolio still wasn’t seeing the full picture. “Why are you so keen on that? What’s your gain?”

Valentine raised his shoulders up to his reappeared ears, and let them drop again. “If my uncle found out I had all this information and didn’t bother telling him, he would be furious. I’m not allowed to leave the palace, or even my room, on most days of the year. Do you know how bored I am? Veronese is such a dreadful language, and my own family won’t speak to me.” He looked at Benvolio, and his face turned scaly, his eyebrows to feathers, his awkwardly bent arms into folded wings. “I’m tired of being _useful_.”

The decision only took about three more seconds. “Sold. What do I have to do?”

“Come back tomorrow, I’ll com you the hour. Bring time. And don’t tell anyone.”

Benvolio left the room wondering how long he had been inside. It felt like hours. Then he shook his head, and went to meet Mercutio and Romeo, if they were still waiting for him. They were not the company he was looking forward to this evening – he still had a hostage situation with an enemy to negotiate.

\---

According to Benvolio’s com it was closer to midnight than eleven when he made his way round the back of the chapel. He had not let himself actually expect Tybalt to turn up, but that lanky, hunched figure could only be him. It was darker here than on the main streets, but no place in Verona ever got truly dark, and when the figure turned its head towards him, Benvolio saw the unnaturally green-and-red eyes glow faintly in the gloom.

“You’re late. I’m missing sleep for this, not that you’d know about that.” He looked like he needed it too, even the strong makeup couldn’t hide it. Then again, Tybalt always looked like he was about to keel over any second. And like he pretended not to know everyone could see it.

“I recharge at night, same as everyone else,” Benvolio said mildly.

Tybalt held out a hand.

“My property.”

Benvolio shoved one hand into his pocket, but made no move to pull out the sunglasses Tybalt had worn this morning. He felt the sudden urge to explain himself, even though stealing them had seemed the most natural course of action at the time. 

“I didn’t like to see you hiding.” Apart from his eyes, the only outward sign of Tybalt’s enhancement were the wires along his hairline, disguised as braids and thus hidden in plain sight, one toe over the line of legality. “It’s none of my business though.”

Tybalt only looked impatient. Benvolio didn’t have him pegged as a great conversationalist anyway, but he hadn’t come all the way for nothing, and so he kept ignoring the outstretched hand just a little longer.

“Well, I’m glad they let you out past your bedtime.” This finally got a reaction, an annoyed jerk of the head, like a cat lashing its tail.

“I can go wherever I please.” 

Benvolio wondered who did his makeup for him. With the way his hand shook there was no way he’d be able to apply it himself.

“Which is why you came here, even though your uncle couldn’t be happy if he knew.” 

“Why, does this count as fraternizing with the enemy?” He seemed to catch himself only after this sardonic question, and immediately looked irritated. Groping blindly for something, anything to keep him from closing up again, Benvolio said the first thing that came to mind:

“I hear you’re having a ball this week.”

…Not the best choice. Tybalt’s glare was made of pure mistrust, with the hint of a threat. Benvolio decided it was time for appeasement, and pulled out the sunglasses. He made sure to brush Tybalt’s fingers with his own as he handed them over, and had to try very hard to keep a straight face when Tybalt jerked back in surprise. Most people did not expect Benvolio’s hands to be both warm and soft, covered in the best synthetic skin Lady Montague’s money had been able to buy.

Tybalt drew himself up to his full impressive height, face haughty like a statue.

“This meeting never happened. You can erase it from your memory.” He turned to leave.

“I can’t actually. I don’t have the administration key.”

Tybalt’s laugh sounded like equal parts surprise and bitterness. “We’re not so different then. You don’t own your head either.”

“What useful nephews we are.” Valentine’s words were still resonating in his head, but Tybalt only looked bemused, before turning for good. He walked a few steps, then stopped. He was still holding the sunglasses, and now they were creaking under the force of his grip. He looked back over his shoulder, sunken eyes shadowed by the dull overhead streetlight.

“The lights are too bright. That’s the reason. I’m not like you, I’m—“ The next part was spoken so softly a human might not have been able to discern it, but Benvolio had an excellent auditory system. “My parts don’t fit together.” Without looking up, he faced forwards again and walked away stiffly.

“Good night,” Benvolio called after his retreating back, and then, impulsively: “Sweet Dreams.”

If Tybalt had heard, he made no sign.

**Author's Note:**

> I had "Wenn ich tanzen will" stuck in my head the entire time I was writing this, just so you know.


End file.
